Guess That's Love (I Can't Pretend)
by greeling
Summary: It's only natural that Roy keeps tabs on Fullmetal for the duration of his travels. After all, Ed does have an investment in the success of his career, and Roy also has vested interest in his well being, having contributed to it in some measure for nearly 10 years now. Except correspondence with Ed fosters unfamiliar feelings in Roy that he doesn't know what to do with. EXPLICIT


It's only sort of natural that Roy keeps tabs on Fullmetal for the duration of his travels. After all, he does have an investment in the success of his career, and Roy also has vested interest in Edward's well being, having contributed to it in some measure for nearly 10 years now.

He also highly values Edward's opinion. Despite his desperate lack of subtlety or _any_ amount of diplomatic tact, Ed is more than useful in Roy's world for the simple fact that he has an uncanny ability to read past strategically poised, political bullshit and mercilessly assess a person's nature _immediately._

For all his sharp edges, brutal insults, and blunt honesty about just how little he particularly cares for Roy's "incessant pestering," Ed never actually ignores him or rejects his check ins.

Roy would hesitate to put too much emphasis on his excitement over Edward's receptiveness, _whatever else_ Hawkeye and his personal peanut gallery like to erroneously imply; he is within perfectly normal bounds of _contentedness_ at fostering what he would tentatively - but appreciatively - term as a "growing friendship" between him and the man who has a great deal of personally valued insight.

He has precious few he can call friends these days; and precious fewer he would not only trust with his life in the heat of battle, but also with his private secrets and inner thoughts that are growing even more dangerous to him with every passing day than whatever bullets he might dodge in the line of duty, as he plays his game and slowly but surely rises in the world of rank and politics.

Edward is a breath of fresh air, a golden light in a darkening cesspool of distrust, a treasured reprieve from scrutiny and ever more laborious masquerades in a never ending game of outmaneuvering.

Edward already knows Roy for who he is, and wasn't fooled for a second by his smarmy grins, suave lines, or manipulative flattery; not that he ever required them in the first place. Edward knows his unsavory past, his story, his lofty plans, and Ed had personally walked through a certain kind of hell right alongside him to emerge victorious on the other side.

And Roy...well, Roy had seen Ed at his lowest, darkest self, and picked him up by the collar and put him back on his feet - _so to speak -_ and stood like a steady support at his back through his most intense and apocalyptic of conflicts.

There is an easy and, dare he admit it, addictive sort of comfort that comes from having a rapport with a person like that, regardless of barbed dialogue and feisty banter that sometimes outwardly indicates a less than friendly inclination towards that person; he can only hope Ed mirrors this sentiment. After all, he keeps picking up the phone and returning his letters.

Roy is learning to even look past Ed's razor tongue, and _worse_ goddamn him, the exorbitant "bastard"s, "fuck you"s, and myriad of other venomously tinted words peppered through Ed's speech even begin to coerce a smile to his lips as he learns to interpret them as the "I think what you're doing is stupid and I'm worried about you,"s and "I'm making a big show of anger to hide my true thoughts on that from you"s they truly are.

God, he hasn't had someone like this since _Hughes._ And even there, it is merely another area that Ed has insight and deeply commensurable emotions of loss, guilt, and understanding.

Ed will never take the place of Hughes. That man was a burning ball of light that breached his atmosphere and crashed so hard into his surface that he left an unfillable crevice - but Ed makes it a little less enveloping. Ed makes it feel a little less like a black hole of despair that sucks him inwards and inwards until he caves on himself, and more like a bad wound, that while it may never heal properly, will become something he can learn to survive and live with.

So Roy picks up his phone, or his pen, and starts _How are you, Fullmetal?_ or _Have you seen the paper recently, Ed? What do you think of so-and-so's stance on whatever inane thing?_ or _What's the weather like in Creta?_ And it's...good. It's nice. It's….well, maybe Riza isn't _too_ out of line to describe his behavior as a little on the side of "enthusiastic" with regards to his correspondence with Edward Elric.

As for Ed...perhaps there really is no telling whether he simply puts up with Roy out of (admittedly, uncharacteristic) good humored charity (and alright, it's not so well humored;) or whether there was something he got out of it as well. But Roy isn't too ashamed to admit he's a bit too selfish to care.

He _is_ a little ashamed of his ever growing urges to monopolize more and more of Edward's time, however. There might be the _slightest_ chance he followed through on that inclination to specifically ring up Edward every night for a week straight after Ed had casually dropped mention of a new acquaintance more than once in a recent letter.

"Do you think I might be suffering from withdrawal, and require more attention than the average human to thrive properly?" He whines at Riza with a pensive frown as she calls him out for his, frankly, rather embarrassing lapse in rationality, gripping his office's personal line with a severe reluctance to hang it up.

"I don't think so, Sir." She responds, and Roy doesn't observe the amused little quirk of her upper lip as she does.

The thing is, Ed's voice, Ed's words, Ed's _mind_ is like a particularly refreshing well in the middle of a sparse desert; and Roy is _parched._ Some days the repetitive, ass kissing " _Yes, Sir,"s_ and forced smiles and straight faced _lies_ he knows he has to eat up and bow to make him feel like he is clawing his way through an endless expanse of drowning sand, pouring into his throat and filling his lungs - but then a well timed quip from Ed, a casual joke breezing through his lips, or a little cartoonish caricature of " _Fuhrer Roy Mustang, Bastard In Chief"_ doodled in the margins of his most recent letter, and _oh,_ he can _breathe_ again. He can inhale deeply, and his lungs expand, and his heart beats, and he can laugh, loud and _genuine_ , and can anyone really blame him at all for feeling so incredibly arid?

 _Can I ever convey to the fullest extent the amount I value your incredible point of view and explicit candor?_ He pens.

 _You better fully convey to your incredible brain how explicitly and candidly I am rolling my eyes at you right now, Mustang._ Ed writes back.

 _You find my brain incredible? How flattering, Fullmetal._

Ed doesn't respond before he makes his next call, in which he takes note that Edward spends a deliberate amount of time aggressively dedicated to belittling his intelligence.

But admittedly, and with great trepidation does Roy acknowledge this, Ed holds as much power equally to bring his spirits into a smouldering, ruined heap on the ground as he does to bring them to their soaring delights.

" _I can't respond to your next letter, so don't bother to send it out here."_ Roy hears over the receiver.

" _What?"_ He manages, and he feels as though he's stumbling, blinded as he was before, and a harsh wind has just tried to knock his knees from beneath him, only it can't be wind because his lungs are _gasping_ like there's no air in the room, and-

" _Yeah, you'll have to contact me at a different address."_

Oh.

" _Where is that?"_ He asks, trying not to betray the fact that his heart had momentarily gone into cardiac arrest.

" _Central."_ He can practically _taste_ the grin in Ed's voice.

" _Well,"_ He licks his lips and struggles desperately to sound only a fraction as thrilled as his rapidly paced heartbeat is telling him he actually is with a loud, kickstarted _ba-pump, ba-pump, ba-pump_ in his ears. " _Won't that make for a pleasant change?"_

Roy does his dignity a service and elects one of his men to go pick Ed up from the station instead of going himself; he doesn't trust that he might not do something incredibly forward and perhaps overly familiar in his jubilation.

Phone calls and hastily dispatched letters are one thing, but he's grown increasingly uncertain and agitated in his uncertainty over the course of days it takes Ed's train from the countryside of Creta to arrive in Central.

Does Ed actually consider them friends? He's always been disrespectfully mouthy anyway, what if he still only sees Roy as an overly nosy ex-CO with a penchant for flattering dramatics and prefers to keep his distance now that he is in easily observable country for Roy to keep one sided tabs on?

It's not like something he can directly ask Ed; for all their openness and dropped boundaries, the precise nature of their relationship is one topic Roy would never willingly encroach upon. Edward Elric is a wonder of nature, who holds nothing back and walks through life and into people's lives with a brash wholeheartedness that probably leaves most people he comes into contact with short of breath, starstruck, and wondering if there was something there, or if it was simply Ed. Roy has been unwilling for too long to find out the answer to that question.

It leaves Roy with no choice but to sit back and wait, to see what Ed will do. He instructs Breda to meet Ed and offer him a ride _wherever he wants to go_ and inform him the military has preserved his thus unused but absolutely complimentary private apartment should he desire it, and sits back in uneasy and low expectation-anticipation that absolutely does _nothing_ for progression through his backlogged paperwork, Riza's chilling glare be damned.

But not two hours later, Edward Elric is kicking his door down in a whirlwind of post _very long train ride_ irritation and a being trailed by a blizzard of greetings and happy salutations. Or at least, a man who rather _looks_ like Edward Elric, and also does _not._

The man who has so suddenly burst into his office with all the grace of a fast paced locomotive, dropping a seat on his couch and propping his feet up on his table with all the social etiquette that usually hallmarked Ed's presence, is of noticeable height; he is still shorter than Roy himself, but by no means _short._ He is broad shouldered, and those shoulders themselves are covered in skin that bears a two-toned, bronzed tan which speaks to travels in a sunny country with his sleeves rolled up.

His hair is long as ever, and as radiant a gold as Roy remembers, but far looser in a high ponytail, tips brushing far lower than Roy ever recalls, even with the additional height added to make up for.

His eyes are gold as well, vibrant and sparkling with mischief behind a playful glare, as his mouth pouts into a mock frown.

 _Goodness gracious, Edward Elric is grown up._

Roy knows it's a stupid thought, because he's been conversing with Ed like an equal adult for _years,_ but all the same he somehow deep down never expected Ed's body to catch up with the rest of him. How foolish he was.

"Honestly, Mustang?" Ed demands, all familiarity and no amount of sincerity, "That garbage too important to come pick me up yourself?" He gestures at Roy's long neglected paperwork and loses the battle against his impending grin, betraying his affronted ruse.

Roy can only manage to gape. He knows he probably looks rather like a fish, mouth opening and closing for no reason at all, which is also probably why Riza elbows him sharply in the side.

" _Yes,_ "she answers for him, turning a steely eye on Ed. "And it still is. Can I have Lt. Havoc escort you to a place you can freshen up and find food?"

Ed's eyes light up at the mention of food. "Hell _yeah_! It'll be nice to see him too, he's here?!"

Ed's exuberant chatter trails off as Riza directs him out the doorway in the proper direction, and Roy feels like he should have protested but he still can't find it in himself to make a sound.

After a solid minute, he manages to collect himself enough to make an embarrassed harrumph that he passes off as a cough.

"Lieutenant, I fear I may be coming down with something. My chest feels disarmingly odd and I think I have a temperature." Roy complains, his voice weakened to the point of cracking.

Riza eyes him with something akin to pity. "I don't think so, Sir. Finish your paperwork."

All the same for his contracting rib cage, confusing dizziness, and overall alarming issues of throat failure, Roy manages to rush through his work at record-breaking speed.

Edward's letters are something precious to Roy. He keeps every one of them, arranged by date and preserved in a box, underneath his bed.

But as special as they are, they're _nothing_ to spending time with Ed in person. Seeing Ed and hearing his voice, properly, is like being suddenly plucked from a desaturated, monochrome landscape and dropped right into a field of multihued poppies and suddenly recalling that _other colors exist._

Ed's laugh over the phone, while always honest and unrestrained enough to typically prompt a wide, toothy response _at least_ from Roy, is _nothing_ compared to the complete picture of him with his head thrown back, cheeks bared to the sun, and eyes squinted in mirth. Ed's laugh in person _changes Roy's life._

So obviously, Roy makes it priority number one to experience it _as often as possible._ He wants to experience all of him, the fullness of everything that is so very Edward in clear, present reality instead of some distant, blurry visage he puts to an echoing voice.

He wants Ed to want to be around him too. He wants - he wants so _much_ , but he can't quite put words to all his desires, or tangibly pull at any of the reasons for them, burrowing beneath the surface of his mind and heart and screaming at him him to _get closer_ and _touch touch touch._

There is something tantalizing about the prospect of being special to Edward, a magnetic pull Ed activates that draws Roy in with incredible force until he's trapped in Ed's gravity and perpetually _mooning_ at him in this seemingly inescapable orbit.

He wants Ed to prefer him over anyone else. He wants to monopolize Ed's time, his space, his thoughts, everything; he's not sure what this says about himself, but like a petulant child he refuses to take all the blame for his own behavior and fervently points at Ed for….well, being _Ed._

Ed doesn't seem to take up too much objection to this either; he readily jumps at Roy's every invitation and whim, to the extent that Roy briefly toys with the concept that Ed _might_ have come there for no particular reason other than to _see him,_ before he shakes himself with a "how self important can you possibly _be,_ Mustang," and shoves it deep inside himself.

Still, he does feel as though he's accessed some secret to happiness or something while he wasn't even trying; Edward brings out in him a state of being that he didn't even know was _possible,_ and sometimes late at night he wonders if he managed to trick the universe out of dealing him the _massive_ amounts of karma he was undoubtedly due.

He loves their days spent discussing alchemy over messy lunch tables at local restaurants, upsetting patrons with the vigor in which they advocate their opinions; he adores the evenings spent bantering with Ed over quality drinks (" _When did you develop a taste that qualifies your opinion on rare wines?" "I don't need to be educated to know when something tastes like shit, Mustang, and sometimes something expensive is just expensive.")_

He treasures the days they traverse outdoors to bask in the sunlight and sit in companionable silence, sometimes dissolving into more in depth personal discussions than they're dared delve into over easily intercepted letters or phone calls; the kind of personal that sometimes leaves Ed's voice a little softer when talking to Roy afterwards, or Roy sitting a little closer in Ed's proximity the next time, and Roy doesn't know why the looks in Ed's eyes on days like those make him feel jittery, or why the emotion behind them sometimes makes him come to terms with just how _much_ Ed has had to endure and how much he knows and feels as a result, and it threatens to knock him off his feet with the weight of it.

He does know that they both are enjoying life, and themselves, to its fullest. He knows he would do just about anything to see Ed smile, and for once in his life he feels the desire to follow through on the instinct to do what makes _himself_ smile. He feels like he's been given a gift, a precious, treasured thing, and he wants to indulge himself to the fullest extent.

There is an immortality to this feeling. Those days he spends with Ed are like perfect little photographs, preserved forever with golden filters of happiness, and it doesn't seem like this summer will ever come to an end because feelings like this aren't fleeting, they are all encompassing, all consuming, _forever._ They're far too important to be anything else.

So Roy isn't prepared when that day comes. The day Ed looks at him with an unreadable expression and says, "I'm travelling to Xing next week."

He doesn't know what to say to that. His instincts fail him, brain sputtering like a machine with tripped wiring and overloaded circuits.

"Is that so." He says on autopilot because he _has_ to say something, defaulting to a tone like a recorded statement rather than a posed question. "I suppose you'll have fun with that."

He's too busy shutting down inside to catch Ed's face peeling back into a notable expression of disappointment.

"Be sure to write me." Roy manages, because he's clinging, desperate, _he can't lose everything._

"Yeah." Ed answers. "I'll do that." He doesn't sound like it's an appealing prospect.

 _What had he done wrong?_

Roy moves through the world like a blind man at sea, after that. The earth tilts and rocks, leaving his stomach an upturned mess; he's desperate for some sort of handrail to find balance on, but it's all too dark to make anything out and he's floundering, alone and in despair. There is _rain._

His hands move in an endless series of flicks as he signs his name on page after page, content bouncing off him with little to no processing as he flings himself into his work ceaselessly, right up til the day Ed's train is set to leave for Resembool, where he plans to catch up with the Rockbells until his little caravan for the long desert trek to Xing is prepared to depart.

He doesn't get paperwork done that day. Instead he stares blankly at the wall, willing the ringing in his ears to tune itself out. It doesn't, however; if anything it grows ever louder, piercing and reforming until it morphs into words, and _oh_ \- Riza is speaking to him.

"Sir?" she addresses him again, and he doesn't know what number of times that makes it.

"Hm?" He glances up at her in acknowledgement this time, and he doesn't doubt he looks no better than a kicked puppy.

Riza scoffs at him. "This is unacceptable. I was willing to take advantage of your mood as it benefited your work for a time, but now I need to know what is afflicting you."

Roy moans in a manner that befits his broken state but is suitably melodramatic enough to hide the fact he is so deeply affected and really not overplaying it.

Riza raises an eyebrow in a perfectly practiced arch. "Is this about Edward leaving? You had to have known he wasn't planning to stay in Central permanently."

"Yes, but-" he contends, struggling to find what exactly he was supposed to fill in there. It was on the tip of his tongue…

"But?" Riza prompts, her eyes softening with that similar gaze they had assumed so many other times before when he had...when he-

"...but I'm in love with him, aren't I?" he breathes the answer like a revelation, and his heart dips in his chest as his vision clears for the first time in days. The first bit of sun breaks through the murky gray storm clouds, and he can taste the ozone from the spark of life the realization jumpstarts.

"I think so, Sir." Riza responds with a small, barely detectable, knowing smile. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Roy hasn't darted out his chair so fast in his entire life.

He knows, logically, he must be drawing attention from every corner in the station. He's running full tilt like stampeding bull, unfastened coat trailing behind him to match his rumpled, unwashed uniform, his unshaven shadow framing what is probably a frightening expression as he struggles to swallow a manic bout of laughter. He just _doesn't care._

He arrives to a skidding halt before the train pulls away - only just, smoke billowing from the engine as it prepares to do just that - and he frantically waves at the windows with a shout, combing through them for a familiar head of golden hair.

 _There!_ He spots him, cupping his hands around his mouth. "EDWARD!" He pleads, at full volume and heart thumping out the rhythm of a prayer, "DON'T GO!"

Ed's eyes widen, almost a comic extent, as he registers Roy's voice and makes eye contact through the glass. Roy sees him mouth what is clearly ' _oh, thank god'_ and the relief that tears Ed's face into a grin rushes over Roy like a waterfall, the force buckling his knees and collapsing him on the station platform.

Or, maybe, it was the fact that he had run there all the way from his office and now his legs had no bones in them; but details don't matter so much when suddenly he has a face full of a smiling Ed, cheeks pulled to split as he kneels over Roy's wheezing figure.

"Don't-" he gasps.

"Don't-" _wheeze_ "-Go."

Ed looks at him like he's the blundering idiot he _absolutely_ is. "It would be real awkward if I had gotten off the train only to go right back and still leave on it, now wouldn't it, Mustang?"

Roy grins up at him and almost dazedly, he confesses, "I love you." Birds take flight in his chest, and _did he actually just-_

Ed laughs, high and bright. "I know."

"You do?" Roy questions, confused. He's only just figured it out himself.

Ed looks him up and down, then pointedly draws attention to the crowd forming around them. "This would be one hell of a spectacle to explain if you fucking didn't." He says, and Roy feels the laugh that prompts all the way down to the tips of his toes.

They don't walk back. Ed calls them a cab, and Mustang directs it to his house. Ed helps him into the car, because _damn_ his useless legs, they still wobble when he takes a step.

Ed sidles up next to him when he gets in himself, closing any distance between them with an airy chuckle and a casual drape of his arm around Roy's waist as if this is _normal,_ as if they had been doing this the whole time, as if it doesn't set Roy's skin buzzing and catch his stomach ablaze.

Roy has the presence of mind to not simply sit there like a rather tall bowl of jelly, because _not sexy, Roy_. He puts his own arm around Ed's shoulder and sinks into him, likewise, and isn't that just _divine._

The scenery whips by them in an unintelligible blur, much like it had for days previous; only this time Roy wasn't suffering repercussions of a wounded heart. He was high - he'd like to blame it on love, but frankly he'd just endured the adrenaline rush of his _life_ \- and his head is spinning with the sheer possibilities that the world has just opened up for him.

That _Ed_ has opened up for him. Fuck, Ed _is_ the possibilities. It is just him, there, in his arms, and that's it.

At least, that is it until Ed stretches his head up to begin sucking at Roy's neck, open mouthed kisses that further stoke the flames inside Roy until the heat makes him suffer the lightheaded feeling of _I'm going to pass out_.

"Edward," he manages, barely, "I am far from complaining...however, I regret to inform you," he continues, words punctuated with revealing little breathy huffs, "that if you continue like this, my legs will go beyond their condition of 'useless' and enter a state of 'total non recovery'."

Ed's answering grin is _wicked_ and entirely _unfair_.

"Gonna need me to carry you across the threshold like a trembling pansy, Mustang?" he snickers.

Ah. Good ol' Ed, ready to temper any mood simply by opening his mouth. While Roy quite enjoys the prospect of eventually mentoring Ed in the elegant art of _seduction,_ for now he laughs out loud and finds appreciation in the energy it floods him with.

Roy's arm tightens around Ed and Ed obligingly refrains from kissing him the remainder of their ride, which takes approximately three minutes for Roy to regret requesting.

But _finally,_ there is home, with all the locked doors and privacy that come with it, and is it loud in this car or is his heart relocating to his eardrums?

Roy is no blushing virgin. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's really no scandal for politicians to be name dropped by any number of women, truth be found or not, and it's a simple fact that with power and money come a certain set of privileges that Roy, with his (as described by others and not _completely_ in his own terms,) irresistible charm and ineffable sex appeal, had taken full advantage of to result in his share of meaningless (but highly pleasurable) trysts over the years.

That is to say, he is far from _inexperienced._ There is no godly reason that he can fathom in which the mere sight of Edward's deep golden eyes, lidded in arousal and the heady aroma of desire that permeated the room the second the front door was shut, should invoke in him the reminiscent experience of sex for the first time all over again.

He feels rather like a child who has been given chocolate for the first time and is in an incredible haste to unwrap and immediately and _taste._

He wants to breathe Ed in like a man starved of oxygen, wants to _devour_ him until he enters Roy's bloodstream, lighting trails that burn through his veins.

And Ed, Ed is moving his arms around his shoulders, hands finding his hair to pet and _tug_ deliciously, mouth meeting his own like a reunion long coming, open and _begging._

So Roy gives, and he takes, and he _takes,_ and he devotes himself to the warm heaven of Ed's mouth with the single minded worship of a man who had just discovered his _religion._ If he could put up an altar to the act of kissing Edward, he would in a heartbeat.

Ed's a marvel, a _wonder._ Roy can't be bothered to close his eyes at all when Ed's right there, flushed down to his neck, hair slipping free under Roy's exploring fingers to curtain where their breaths meet and mingle.

Not one to mince words, Ed whispers "Bed?" and it sends a jolt up Roy's spine.

"You sure?" he asks, hating himself for it but knowing he would hate himself more if he didn't.

Ed rolls his eyes. "If you get to dramatically chase down a train to beg me to stay so you can confess your undying love to me-"

"I never said it was undying." Roy interrupts, feeling cheeky.

Ed levels an incredulous stare.

"...Conceded." Roy admits.

"Your _undying_ love for me," Ed picks up with no small amount of sass, "Then I should get to seduce you for the best night of fucking you've ever had."

Roy's body is _gone_ , in cinders, the heat is practically _steaming_ off him. "It's only fair, I suppose," he murmurs into Ed's ear, tracing his tongue around the outer shell and nipping at his earlobe.

Ed squeaks, small and _beautifully,_ and Roy hides his smirk into Ed's neck.

"This way." He extracts himself from Ed's embrace with as much reluctance as a cat being drug from a particularly warm patch of sunlight

The sight of Ed inside his bedroom does something funny to Roy; there is something fundamentally different about meeting in the confines of your room with a stranger for nothing more than casual sex, and seeing someone walk back into it, arms around your neck, smile as bright as the sun, and thinking " _I want this every day of my life."_

Roy twists Edward around so he can push the door shut, and he slams Ed against it in a singular motion. Ed gasps; his mouth falls open just the slightest bit, and Roy can't resist it anymore.

He falls into Ed's arms like he's coming home. He kisses him deeply - he's always believed that a good kiss, a _proper_ kiss, should communicate more than any number of words ever could.

Ed apparently doesn't get the memo - either that or he's not doing a good enough job, he shudders to _think_ \- because he stops kissing Roy to press words into his skin, tongue tracing the letters into his neck as his hands wind their way underneath his shirt, pressing, branding, marking him permanently as _possessed._

"I-" _kiss,_ "love you," _bite,_ "Roy Mustang," and Roy can't find a single complaint within him anyway.

Either Ed is more distracting than Roy had expected or he is utilizing some arcane magic, because the next thing Roy knows his shirt is in a puddle on the floor, buttons in tact, and he's not quite sure how it even happened.

But fair's fair - or, as Ed would put it, "equivalent exchange" - so he tugs at the ends of Ed's shirt to get the message across ( _off!_ ) without disentangling himself to actually achieve it.

Ed laughs, and Roy has never felt so _full_. His chest is bubbling, bursting, and he doesn't think he can cram in any more affection for Ed if he tries.

Roy's next course of action, or rather his next _planned_ course of action, was going to be to maneuver the freshly de-shirted Ed around to the bed to get him where he belongs - properly beneath him.

Ed beats him to the punch, however, as he is often _so apt_ to do; he's stumbling backwards, _tripping,_ and then there's Ed - beautiful, _breathtaking_ Ed - balancing above him as his back hits the mattress, eyes darkening in focus and magnetic with intent.

Roy has never felt more okay about an upset of his general plans in his life. And he might have to rethink his position on exactly where Ed belongs.

Ed settles himself with a small wiggle of his hips over Roy's legs, and he drags himself, slowly, _tormentingly_ higher.

"Ah-" Ed draws out of him, with the sweetest of smiles paired with the most sinful of grinds.

"I…" Ed stumbles breathily over his words, and if he hadn't already been flushed Roy suspects he might have started now. "I don't really...know what I'm doing." His grin is sheepish but no less blinding. "I'm just following my instincts here."

Roy smiles in a way he hopes comes across as encouraging, but really he wouldn't have been able to hold back if he had tried, and it's all for himself. "I suspect you'll overcome any-" he grunts as he grinds back and upwards against Ed, "-hindrances and manage with the same leve of proficiency you have with anything else you apply your incredible _instincts_ to."

He _feels_ as though he's said something smooth, but honestly he's as scatter brained and foggy as he's ever been and he's not entirely sure. It must work though, because Edward practically _growls_ and attacks his neck with a fervance that drives Roy to prayer all over again.

He tries to focus himself - breathe, _one, two_ , - and suddenly Ed is shucking his pants. The loss of pressure momentarily is enough for him to clearly gather the thought " _good idea,"_ and he sticks his thumbs in the sides of his own rumpled military pants to try to wedge them down.

There is no dignified way to take your pants off when you're lying on your back. Roy knows this, and he would have appreciated it if Ed hadn't reminded him of it with a poorly restrained snicker when he has to, _rather unsexily,_ bounce himself a few times to get them down to his knees.

Still, Roy _does_ appreciate that Ed helps by pulling them the rest of the way down and tosses them somewhere in a corner. In the moment, Roy doesn't care if he never sees them again.

Ed's kneeling beside him now, and he leans forward to connect their mouths again, a soft noise in the back of his throat that makes Roy's eyes slip shut so he can replay it in his head, again and again, until it occurs to him that _I can just make him do it again._

He tries to sit up so he can find some more control, get what he wants from Ed - but he can't move much when Ed leans a heavy hand in the dead center of his chest. His eyes look like they're secreting something, some hidden thought, and Ed just presses harder until Roy settles back down.

But hell, his crotch doesn't follow in the same manner. He hadn't even _known_ that that could be a thing for him - _control and power issues,_ Riza had accused of him once - but Ed, with his broad shoulders, sincere expressions, and trailing golden halo that tickles the sides of his cheeks and the ridges of his collarbones, holding him down with purpose, like he's going to do whatever he wants and Roy is going to _like_ it, well….Roy's never been more certain he will.

Ed's head dips, and his tongue darts out to start mapping trails down Roy's chest, fingers dancing and skimming along, pausing to trace the raised edges of his scars like he's absorbing a memory.

Ed's hands are gorgeous - they're rough and calloused, the left far more than the right - but he's never felt such _gentleness_. Contrary to what Roy might have thought, it doesn't make him feel like he's being treated as though he's fragile.

He's had his fair share of pity fucks, people touching him with sad expressions and words cautious like they think he'll crumble if they're too rough, primarily the period in his life right after he'd lost Hughes -

\- But in any case, Ed isn't like that. Ed's pressure is firm and _hot_ , god it's so hot. It's electric, and it's measured, it's a journey that's going somewhere with a destination in mind. It's not reluctant, or judgemental, or condescendingly soft; it's _tender,_ but with a pure kind of reverence that comes from a man _in love_ who wants to do it _right._

God, how far _gone_ must he be if, for the first time in a long time, he feels treasured, he feels like maybe he's not as much of a fucked up, unwanted monster as he thinks he is, just from a bit of _handsy groping_ from Edward?

He does want to feel a _little less passive_ through this, but Ed doesn't seem interested in letting him right now, and Roy's not so desperate that he would willingly put a stop to Ed's _glorious_ ministrations.

Ed seems to sense his little internal struggle though, and he slides himself back up Roy's body; he can't restrain the shiver that slithers up his spine when Ed's breath reaches his ear.

"What do you want to do?" He asks, and like that Roy _melts._

"Oh, Ed." He murmurs, all his emotion bleeding through his words, "You perfect, beautiful, absolutely _incredible_ human being."

His mouth finds Ed's forehead, and he peppers little kisses all the way down to his nose, causing Ed to scrunch it up in what looks like a scowl, but Roy knows it just tickles him.

"I am entirely open to you taking the lead as you have so _effectively_ done thus far," He says as he feels that familiar, creeping urge to _tease_ rear its head. "That is, if you think you're man enough to handle it."

"Is that a challenge?" Ed demands, eyes steely with determination but no less passionate. "Or was that a jab at my height? Calling me so short I can't reach the tall order of keeping you satisfied?"

Roy struggles not to burst out into raucous laughter. "My dear, sweet Edward," he consoles, "I hardly think that's a thing I have much room to joke about anymore." He does insert a note of sadness into that statement, as though he's resentful of the fact.

Ed seems to miss it. "You're damn straight."

His face then wrinkles in mock distaste. "But Mustang, when the fuck did you become such an insufferable _sap?"_

"Why Edward," Roy bats his eyelashes innocently, "My love, my star, my everything, whatever do you mean?"

Ed rolls his eyes and seems content to shut Roy up with his tongue.

As Ed kisses him deeper and deeper, his hands seem to find more boldness. He drags them down further, over his hips, downs his thighs, then back up to _teasingly_ rest on his hips again, a fraction too light to be anything other than _torture._

His protest is swallowed up though, caught in his chest and buried as Ed aligns himself over Roy and descends to _rut_ against him.

Roy is familiar with fire. He has worked with it every day since he was a young man. It simultaneously haunts his darkest of nightmares and taunts him with lust every time he tastes the power of it.

But the sheer magnitude of the heat and the flames Edward brings at the smallest of touches overwhelms him to breaking. So when Ed is pressed up against him, chest to chest, thighs clenched around his own, Roy _burns._

He doesn't know what to do with his hands; Ed's far too hot to grab onto. He inhales so sharply he almost chokes when is problem is resolved as Ed grabs both his wrists to _pin_ them above his head with his left arm.

Ed's grin is wicked _._ Like he _knows_ what he does to Roy - and, well, Roy supposes as Ed mercilessly rubs their lengths together, he actually does.

He tries to press back equally into Ed. As much as he gets the little power play thing Ed is doing, Ed's breathing is becoming more of a pant and Roy can't stand to simply _lie_ there.

His hips jerk and undulate, trying to gain enough pressure and friction under Ed's weight, but he's far too uncoordinated, and the repetitive _slip-drag_ of Ed's cock on his turns from headily stimulating to _not enough, not enough,_ in a matter of minutes.

Edward, Roy is sure, must be long gone and replaced with a _demon,_ a succubus with the most beautiful face he could think of designed for his personal torment, because he manages to fold himself over his body perfectly, still moving _just_ on the edge of teasing, to whisper: "How is this, Sir?"

Roy feels the muscles in his lower back spasm as he tries to control the thick wave of pure, unadulterated _lust_ that crests over him in a rising tidal wave to bowl him over entirely.

Ed looks smug; he's guiding Roy's hips and he's blatantly _refusing_ to touch Roy's desperate, weeping erecton with his hands save for the light trailing of fingertips he allows to brush the tip every so often. Roy is going to go _crazy._

He figures Ed is testing him, trying to see just how much control Roy is _really_ willing to surrender to him, how much he is going to bend before he breaks. He doesn't really care. He wrestles his hands from Ed's lava-hot grip, and Ed raises his eyebrows and stops moving.

Roy can _feel_ the whine in the back of his throat, but he absolutely refuses to go there.

"I thought we were doing what I wanted?" Ed asks, and Roy can hear the expectancy in his voice, like he knows Roy is going to say "Fuck that," and tackle him to the bed.

Roy decides to meet him halfway. "You can," he manages to gasp, still definitely _not_ whining, "But only if you actually get around to the process of fucking me, preferably some time in this century."

Ed looks astonished. He looks like Roy just pulled the rug out from beneath him and left him sitting on his ass. _He looks like he didn't expect to be allowed to have what he wanted the whole way through,_ Roy thinks to himself in amusement.

"Uh…" Ed stammers, and Roy realizes. _Ed has no clue how to do this_. Roy spares him the indignance of explaining it to him; he figures he'll direct him under the guise of informing his preferences...which will be interesting, seeing as Roy is himself unfamiliar with what those are.

"I have condoms and lube in the bedside drawer," he offers helpfully, and Ed looks reluctant and nervous as he tries to give a confident nod and reach over Roy. The view is nice; Roy gets a close up of Ed's pale skin on his torso, all the way to where it met the darker skin of his shoulder.

Ed sits back on his heels with the mentioned items. He opens his mouth looking like there is a question bouncing around on his tongue, but at the last second he chooses to swallow it.

"I have preferences for not being assaulted with cold lube, so do me the favor of warming it with your fingers first?" Roy encourages.

Ed scowls at him. "Fuckin' _duh,_ Roy. Any kid accustomed to his right hand could tell you that."

Roy laughs. "You'd be surprised at just how many people forget that," he says, "Including myself one more than one overzealous occasion."

"Yeah, well you're a bastard." Ed bites back, rather weakly.

Ed does warm it first though, and his dripping hand hovers between Roy's thighs in uncertainty.

"I'm afraid it's been a long while since my last time," Roy says like there has ever been a "last time," but he wants Ed to have faith that _someone_ knows what they're doing here, "So you'll have to start with only one at a time."

Ed nods at him like that was the answer he had been looking for, and Roy takes a deep breath to ready himself.

Ed takes his time opening Roy up. It's sweet, really, and combined with the fact that he's completely inexperienced in this particular position, he's feeling incredibly content and very loved, more than particularly aroused, at Ed's meticulous attention.

He keeps his erection up, though. The knowledge that Ed is _finger fucking him_ , as well as the few times that Ed manages a light graze on a spot deep inside him that feels like it teases something that could be as electrifying as a sparkplug underwater if only he could just get a little _more -_ makes sure of it.

But then, finally, Ed has rolled the condom on and he's lining up, and Roy has never felt more _ready,_ and Ed glides in easily because Roy is stretched to wet, loose _perfection._

If Roy thought he felt a fire before, it was nothing compared to _this._ This is taking burning, writhing, living desire and pouring the boiling liquid of it into his belly, seeping through his limbs, and making a home in his chest. He feels like Ed is going to sear him from the inside out, and all he can manage is a wrecked sort of moan that he means to be "God, _more."_

Ed looks like he's blissed out. Roy could honest to god write poetry and sing songs about the way Edward's face looks in that moment, all hunger and pleasure wrapped in a beautiful bow of _absolutely destroyed._

Ed's hair is clinging to his forehead and his back, darkening to a honey wheat color where his sweat has soaked it. His eyes are blown, gold hardly seeming to ring the wide, black pupils.

He moves with all the vigor of a young man - Roy once was like this, he supposes, but rather than compare himself to Ed now, he arches his back, head lolling, and he _enjoys_ it.

The heat from their movement, their intermingling breaths, and the steamy desire rolling off them in rivulets permeates the whole room and invigorates him to his bones. He's never felt more _alive_ , and he's climbing higher and higher and higher on that wave.

They neither one of them last particularly long; Ed's hips pick up their pace and then stutter, before repeating the process, and he fumbles to get a hand between their bodies to jerk Roy off. Roy almost wishes he doesn't need it, but knows better for it being his first time and _fuck_ he isn't going to complain at all when Ed's warm fingers _finally_ encircle his aching dick.

Ed finishes first, back jolting into a ramrod straight position as his gorgeous, kiss bruised lips drop into a perfect "O," without a sound. Roy comes only a moment later, driven to it almost purely by the expression on Ed's face.

Roy isn't sure if he actually blacks out or whether he simply closes his eyes in exhaustion, but when he opens them, he finds Ed curled at his side without his notice.

Despite all that they had just done, Roy's heart does a quick, jarring flutter at the sight. Ed's relaxed and sleepy, completely pliant and open and _trusting._ It somehow feels more intimate than anything Roy has ever experienced in his whole, undeserving life. He feels _blessed._

"Hey," Ed barks at him as though he can see, even though his eyes are closed, "Wipe that dopey look off your face right the fuck now."

Roy softens even more, purposefully schmooping his expression to gain the maximum effect. "What look?"

"Don't play fuckin' dumb, Mustang," Ed refuses to rise to the bait, keeping his eyes tightly shut. "I know you, and I know you have a dumbass look on your face and I'm telling you to _knock it off_ before I decide to."

Roy can't help diving in closer, drawing Ed in for a hug and a peck at his cheek. "Yes, dear." he responds, hopelessly, incandescently happy.

"Eugh." Ed complains.

Roy feel invincible. _They_ feel invincible.


End file.
